


Untitled Killjoys-Meet-MCR Fic

by Go0se



Series: Solid Mirages [3]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Brief Vomiting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, In this case literal universe-fusing, Injury, M/M, References to Illness, WIP Amnesty 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Go0se/pseuds/Go0se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s a thing: names have meaning. Snakes have poison and poison belongs with snakes, there’s no use trying to separate them or make them rebel against each other.  If one of them is taken, the other will follow, and bring them back.  Always. No matter what.</p><p>(WIP Amnesty. One day I was like "What if married!Kobra and Poison met MCR? And then have Girl in there too because she's cool?", wrote some of it, and then completely stalled out.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Killjoys-Meet-MCR Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Posted in 2014, but I'm briefly editing this in 2016! Not going to touch any of the actual plot elements but I figured I could at least fix some of the typos.  
> It's kind of cool and kind of a trip to read this over now, seeing how my view on the Fabulous disasters' characters have changed so much. I'm leaving it up here mostly for you all. Please bear in mind it's not my best work, but, y'know, posterity.  
> Anyway. More of this is actually just outline notes, I'm including them because why the fuck not. Again, I might have actually counted this as a not!fic except for the huge chunk out of the middle that I have no idea what to do with it, as well as the whole 'what even is the narrative point' bit. (There is no point. I just felt like putting them together.)

  
///

  
It’s like there’s a disturbance in the force, or some kind of change in atmospheric pressure (more likely), but there’s no sound when the redhead appears in open space and then stumbles and crashes into the wall of the bus. He’s out of breath and clutching a gun so hard the plastic of the handle is starting to crack. He looks like Gerard in ‘Na Na Na’ costume, long dyed hair and the right height, except that Gerard cut his hair and re-dyed it black and ditched most of the clothes and more importantly is standing a foot or so to Mikey’s left with a cup of coffee in his hands, staring at the new man with the same “does not compute” look that Mikey supposes, later, he himself must’ve worn just then.  
Once the man has pushed himself to his feet and looks up, the first thing his eyes lock on is Mikey. (Gerard will later describe his eyes as ‘battle-worn; terrified’ and Mikey won’t disagree.) And the first thing he does, after that, is utter a broken-sounding “ _You_ ,”, drop his weapon on the ground and cover the space between them in three wide steps.

And though the person looks like Gerard--- Mikey’s Gerard, who’s just starting to utter something that might be “The _fuck_ ” and stepping backward--- he definitely isn’t anything like him, because he's kissing Mikey, suddenly. His lips are chapped and cracked and taste somewhat coppery, probably from the blood leaking out of his nose; the fingers that he presses briefly to Mikey’s shoulders and then threads through Mikey’s hair feel rough and sweaty. Mikey registers this even as his brain fills up with so much “WHAT THE FUCK” sirens that he can’t make his muscles understand the need to pull away.  
It’s not a romantic kiss, precisely, but there’s also nothing _joking_ about it, nothing like the ones Gerard used to share with Frank onstage as a laugh and a result of spur-of-the-moment adrenaline. There’s real desperation in the mysterious man’s action, real intent behind the press of his mouth, and real… tenderness in the way he strokes Mikey’s skull through his hair. And when (after the longest and most fucking bizarre thirty seconds of Mikey’s life) he finally pulls away, there are real tears in his eyes. They run off his sharp cheekbones and mingle with the dust and blood caked on his skin.  
“I thought you got fucking _ghoste_ _d_ ,” he said.

 

It’s those words that make Mikey flinch backward—finally--- because the man sounds exactly like Gerard, too.  
  
He follows Mikey back, like they’re dancing a two-step, and he makes a concerned noise. “What’s the matter?” He said. “Is it—is it your head, are you hurt?” The man quickly pulls one of his hands away from Mikey’s hair and checks his palm before locking eyes with Mikey again. “There’s no blood,” he said, sounding concerned and hurried, at the same time he looked Mikey up and down with what may have been analytical eyes. “But maybe they’ve---”  
“Dude, it’s not my _fucking_ head,” Mikey says, stepping backwards again and feeling the man’s hand slide off the back of his neck. (And his hair feels colder without his hand on it; the guy had been fucking burning up.) He puts a hand up to his mouth and covered it, instinctively, the same way he would cover himself with a towel if someone walked in on him showering. “What—the fuck,” he says shakily.

“Kobra--” The man tried to say, reaching out, but then Gerard moved between them and threw a protective arm out in front of Mikey. At the sight of Gerard, the man who looked like him froze and stared.

“You---” Gerard started to say, and then he took a breath. His voice was shaking and Mikey couldn`t even tell from what just then. “You stay away from him.”

But the man wasn’t paying attention anymore. His eyes darted from Gerard, to the ceiling, to the window on the their left which showcased blurry countryside. They’re at the wrong end of the bus for the driver to have heard them but Mikey is suddenly nervous. He looked over his shoulder at the driver, relaxing somewhat when his eyes were still on the road.  
Someone said “Where the fuck am I,” and when Mikey looks back the man is visibly shaking, hands curled like he’s still holding that gun.  He looks directly at Mikey, eyes wide and frightened. “What you have done to me,” he said, and just when Mikey opens his mouth to protest that he hasn’t “done” anything, the man drops onto his knees with one hand pressed on his stomach, throws up (Gerard knocks into Mikey in his hurriedness to avoid the splatter), and then keels over onto his side, face just inches from the puke. His eyes actually roll up into his head and when he falls to the ground he stays there, completely still.

Both of the Way brothers spend a few seconds staring at the man on the floor. And then the bathroom door opens, and Frank steps out zipping up his pants before looking down and freezing, too. It’s only when Ray shows up and spends five seconds looking at the body and another five looking at Gerard, that the silence breaks. “Okay, what do we do?” Ray said.  
“I don’t know,” Gerard said, trying to sound calm. “I really don’t.”  
“He’s--- he’s still breathing, though,” Mikey said. It came out a bit muffled from under his hand and Ray was staring at him, so he put his arm down.  
Ray’s eyebrows went up. “Someone’s going to have to explain shit to me,” he said, looking at Mikey and then Gerard, who just waved his hands.

  
\--**--  
  
Party stays mostly silent for a week. When they try to ask him how he got there he asks _them_ how _he_ got there. He stays in a corner with his legs tucked up in front of him, arms resting on his knees, looking for all the world like a five year old sulking except for the gun clutched in his hand. The guys had left it on the floor when they’d discussed What The Fuck Is Going On, that first day, and when he`d came too and they were still in the middle of the discussion he’d got up, moved around them, grabbed it and spun so his back was to the wall. He had watched them distrustfully, standing in the same spot mutely for several hours. After that, he continued to watch them distrustfully, except sitting on his heels. When they came back in from the concert that first night, he was sitting on the floor with his knees bent in front of his face, and that was how he stayed.  
After the third day, they gave up talking to him, and just tried to stay as far away from that corner of the bus as possible. They never saw him get up to use the toilet, but he must have. Mikey brought him water bottles and some of the food that they got at rest stops and left it in front of him, on the floor, because the guy wouldn’t look at his face or reach up and actually take the food Mikey was offering him. He did eat them, though, eventually, but he didn’t look any healthier and he never asked for anything.

  
And then there's the eighth day, when fucking Kobra Kid shows up just as suddenly with just as little warning.  
  
It’s dark inside the bus, with just the streetlights outside shining through the windows; the men who Party only knows the name’s of by listening to their conversations are outside again, playing some kind of show. (He guesses, from the guitars, that they’re a _band,_ which is the kind of thing he could respect if he knew what the fuck was going on.)   
  
Kobra’s not bleeding but he looks windswept and confused and smells like lightning burn, and the first thing he does when he’s suddenly in a bus is spread his feet out, catching his balance like a cat would, and just blinking wide-eyed around at everything. He was in a fight, seconds before, and now there's only quiet. He can't process it.   
Then (because Party thinks he’s heard something), his redhead turns up out of the shadows on the floor like a goddamned bogeyman and can’t manage anything other than a weak 'hey’. Kobra looks at him and says something along the lines of “Fucking asshole,” and tries to step toward him but as he takes the first step his leg just collapses under him and his eyes roll up, he hits the floor side-first, passing out.  
  
When _he_ wakes up, Party’s pulled his torso into his, Party’s, lap, and is clutching him like he’s never going to let him go. Party has one of his hands in Kobra Kid’s hair and his other arm slung across Kobra’s chest and pressed against his back, holding him. When Kobra looks up at him, he smiles, albeit through something like tears. “I thought you got fucking ghosted,” he said softly.  
“You disappeared,” Kobra said, blinking, and then inhaled and pushed himself away from the redhead, and onto his own feet. Party stood up with him, holding onto the younger man’s arms, as if he was afraid Kobra would disappear if he was not touching him. Kobra didn’t try to shake him off but did glare, furiously: “You were just fucking gone-- Ghoul risked his goddamn neck sniping a fucking vanload of Dracs because we thought you’d gotten fucking _kidnapped,_ where have you _been---_ ”  
“I’ve been here,” Party said, stepping forward so their foreheads were pressed together and he could feel Kobra’s breath on his face, “I’ve--- motherfucker, I’ve been here but I don’t know where here is, or, or anything--- these guys are in some kind of fucking rock band---”  
“What?” Kobra opened his eyes and pulled away from the redhead again. “What do you mean, there’s someone else?”  
“Look around,” Party said quietly. “But, slow-like, okay? Shit's kind of a jolt.” He let go of Kobra’s arms to entwine their fingers instead, squeezing.  
Kobrsa just watched him for a second, eyes shiny and pupils deep in the dim light. And then he turned slowly on the spot, eyes running over the steel walls with huge felt pieces glued on, the wide windows (now dark, showing concrete and spray-painted parking spaces), the crap all over the floor, the huge TV, the bunks; the now-empty drivers seat so many feet in front of them. He closed his eyes and breathed in, intentionally slow.  
Party stepped up close to him again. “I upchucked, when I got here,” he said.  “Do you feel sick?”  
Kobra’s eyes were still closed; he pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly. “No, just… dizzy-made.” He opened his eyes again and faced Party. “You… you were here. This whole time.”  
“I've got no clue where this joint is,” Party repeated. He was holding onto Kobra's hand still, half because he was sort suspecting Kobra to try and deck him across the face. Half because he'd missed his hand, all big knuckles and bitten nails and warmth. “But, yeah. Haven't changed scenes once. Or what I can remember, I haven't. Maybe time moves different here, maybe,” and he lets out a slightly unbalanced laugh, “Maybe we fell through a wormhole or something.”  
"Maybe," Kobra said. The dizzy-making effect of the warp, or whatever, was starting to wear off. He took a closer look at Poison.  
“Did you have that blood on your nose this whole time, too?” Kobra's fingers gently press on the spare inch of skin just beneath Party’s nostrils, and the redhead winces slightly.  
“Yeah,” Party said, poking at his nose with his own hand. “Yeah, it happened when I got here. Or maybe before… I think maybe one of those stupid fucks punched me before I, disappeared or whatever.”  
“And you’ve left it there this whole time,” Kobra said. His voice was softer, more warm. “You stupid fuck, do you know how much blood irritates the skin if it’s left on too long?”  
“You’re making that up."  
Kobra stepped closer. They were directly sharing each other’s breathing space, now. “I’d rather not kiss you and taste blood, is all,” he said, pressing their foreheads together.  
Poison's mouth crooks up just slightly. The two of them slide back down onto the floor and wrap around each other; he relaxes for the first time in a week into Kobra's arms.

  
\--~~~---  
  
  
  
_Notes:_  
When the band gets back, they see them sitting together. Ray's the one who notices the red and yellow respectively tattoos on each of their ring fingers and blurts out “You're _married_ ?” And they're like... yeah. No shit. And for the band the whole situation just took another Weird Level in the Totally Messed Up chart. Kobra, for one, finds it vaguely amusing how weirded out they are. **  
**  


-When Honey aka Motorbaby shows up: G realizes P said ‘sweetheart’ as a condescending (towards them) term, or catch-all lady term (non-condescending) (when/if they run into ladies?); and Poison is saying 'honey' now because it’s the kid's name _._

-Honey gets there through the same weird pressure-change/airzap as the other two; she lands, if she was falling, on her feet, sways and then immediately goes headfirst to the floor. She looks like she hasn't drank water in a while. The Killjoys take care of her as best they can on the couch, propping her up and giving her a blanket to help with the shakes and a couple cold cloths (provided by the band, who are freaked out by such a sick kid along with everything else, although the KJs wouldn't even hear the idea of taking her to a hospital). That's basically the rest of the first couple days.  
  
-Poison doesn’t have anything with him except his gun; Kobra’s a bit more well-off but is mostly running on survival gear; Honey’s taken sentimental stuff. One of which is Party’s sketchbook. When she’s sick on the couch she tells them to check her messenger bag and that’s part of what’s in it; She says that she’d traded some of the pencil-crayons for supplies and she’s sorry. And she is: she's too tired to be anything else.  
Party looks at his sketchbook like what it is-- a piece of his brain come back to him. And then he reaches over and gently pulls some curls off of Honey’s face, resting his hand on her head. ‘If it meant you lived a little longer, I don’t care if they’re gone.” He does have enough energy to lie to her, but he isn’t.

  
-At first, when she’s sick, they don’t leave her side; afterwards they do, but not for very long.   
When him and Kobra are playing cards or something, she joins them; if Poison’s sitting at the window smoking, she comes up and leans against his knees, propping herself up while she reads a comic book, or draws, or whatever it is she’s doing right then. Party looks down at her with a little smile on his face, and stays there for a while even after he’s flicked the last ash of the cig (the kind he smokes doesn’t have a filter) out of the window. Sometimes he reaches down and scratches her hair, like he’s scratching behind a kitten’s ears, and she snort-laughs and bats his hand away.  
  
–She makes scared noises during the night, when she’s asleep, for the first little while. Poison and Kobra seem to have a rotating schedule on who gets up out of the bottom bunk (that they sleep, together, in) and goes out to the couch in the living area where the kid is sleeping to gently shake her awake, and then hold her until she goes back to sleep. (Frank gets up, once, just-- just to make _sure_ that there’s only snuggling going on, that the girl isn’t being hurt by them or anything. Only because they don’t know anything about these men, not really; them being married, _to each other_ , proved that. Not that there was anything wrong with their marriage in and of itself, since they aren't the Way brothers, but it's still fucking weird. In any case, Frank finds nothing; just the honest voice of a kid who’s suffered a trauma, telling someone she trusts what was scaring her; and the trusted person voicing mindless affirmations that Frank was beginning to think were a staple of parental-figures everywhere; it’s fine, go back to sleep. We won’t let anything hurt you. And then the girl curling up in the circle of Kobra’s arms and him holding still, just breathing, until she stills enough to actually be sleeping again; and he sets her back down on the couch and kisses her hair, before walking quickly and quietly back to the bunk he shares with his husband.)  
  
\--They totally play cards. Poker, Rummy, Sevens, Cheat (everyone loses, if that’s possible), War. (Scum?)   
They’ve taught the girl well; she’s pretty good.

  
\-----Later, but w/ the sketchbook thing: Gerard sits down and goes through it. Because he can. (All the KJ’s are asleep?) --There’s a whole section seemingly dedicated to the guy-who-isn’t-Mikey (and Gerard always has to remind himself to call the guy ‘Kobra’ in his head), and while none of the pictures are explicitly… explicit, they’re all sort of uncomfortable. Like, the close-ups of guy-that-isn’t-Mikey’s hands,holding a cigarette loosely with the unfamiliar tattoo on his finger clearly visible **;** or the one’s that showcase a little curl of hair against the back of his neck, or one of his jawline, lips and nose, like a picture taken from the right side. A page full of nothing but loose line drawings of Kobra’s mouth and eyes and neck and shoulders; and then a full headshot, his shoulders bare and head thrown back/mouth curved in a way that clearly indicated ecstasy.

There’s a obvious intimacy in them that makes Gerard flip the page nervously, averting his eyes.

Secondly on the ‘Gerard’s Mortification’ scale are the sketches that Poison did of Kobra’s whole body. He’s still always (mostly) clothed, but just the way that Poison traced the lines of the other man’s shoulders makes Gerard feel like he’s stepped into a room when both of Them are in bed together. There’s ones of the other Kobra hunched over a table, working on something; and ones of him standing shirtless under some kind of makeshift shower, his face tilted up and his hands in his hair; and there’s plenty of him on his stomach, asleep. And one, single full-page shadowed sketch of Kobra Kid lying down, in his jacket and jeans, facing the artist—facing Poison. The man-who-isn’t-Mikey has his head propped up on his own arms and his legs sort of bent and draped on top of one another, like a sleazy pin-up. But his expression is wrong—it should be suggestive, but it’s just soft. He has a smile playing on the edge of his shell-pink lips. This one, for whatever reason, was important enough to Party Poison to use the pencil crayons. All the others had been drawn in charcoal.  
The other sections are less uncomfortable, at least. Non-sensual drawings of guys who must be Fun Ghoul and Jet Star (considering how much they look like Frank and Ray), doing mundane stuff, pulling silly faces, cleaning their guns. A few almost modernist sketches of Honey Grenade (or not-Grace, as he reminded himself every day) doing cartwheels-- it took a few seconds to place, because her legs and hands and torso were a blur of intersecting, rolling movement lines on the page. And more of the kid, stills this time: her wrestling with a bottle (that he sincerely hoped wasn’t actually beer), her painting her face with something bright (another one that Poison had granted the importance of colour); a small rectangular section of her sleeping face with the words “in the rearview” scrawled underneath it.  
The next few sections were mostly of abandoned buildings and sprawling deserts. They were the places no one would think anybody could live.

 

\--All of them end up having a hotel night at some point. They manage to sneak the three actual Zone-Runners in, mostly by making Party and Kobra wear various hats and different jackets, and having them us the back entrance. They Killjoys are old hands at this, so they just shrug and go in.  
  
Inside; Grace see['s the huge-ass Playground and the pool and more importantly all of the kids therein, and she just stares through the hallway window at them, not saying anything. K and P had been walking ahead but they notice after three seconds that she isn`t there, and they turn around light-quick. And there’ll like, ‘what is it’, and she wants to go down, and they don’t say anything but when they get to the hotel room she drops her stuff off, K asks P outside and they spend about two minutes debating whether or not she should get to go to the playground. Party is paranoid/perpetually worried, Kobra is, weirdly, rational. They decide on a yes and then go into the room and tell the almost-twelve year old this. She promptly flies at them in a hug. Later, down in the play structure, Honey is confused, sort of, by the play area itself. She likes how bright everything is but doesn’t like the thick smell of plastic that prior to this she had always associated with burnt Dracs’ masks. But there’s ‘shooters’ and balls and places to climb up and look out so she does, scampering, Party following. Kobra waits for a while and then, when his husband climbs back down, exhausted and complaining of his knees, they trade off. And then Honey meets a girl who’s about her age and they pretty much instantly glue themselves together at the hip.

(The girl’s name is Isabel. Right before they leave, she gives Honey this really pretty, sort-of glittery fabric hairband; Honey gives the girl one of her necklaces. Later, when they’re on the bus again, Honey asks Party--- or maybe Kobra, or both of them--- that all names have meaning, right? And they’re like, yeah. So she asks what Isabel means. They say (or one of them says, or Mikey comes up and says? Eh.) “God’s promise.” And she nods, and asks “Promising what?” She runs the hairband through her fingers.))

 

\-----Party leaves first. They’re all sitting on the couches shooting the shit when he suddenly sort of heaves, and the air pressure around him drops. He actually sort of slips off the couch, onto his knees, holding onto stomach. Kobra and Honey are at his side in less than half a second, Kobra grabbing his shoulder and asking what’s wrong and Honey just hovering, asking at the same time if she should get a bucket or something. Party is still sort of hunched over but he lifts his head and looks at Kobra, and he looks frightened but also sort of… excited? And worried, all sorts of shit, Kobra can’t understand it so he puts his other hand on Party’s other shoulder and squeezes, asking again what the fuck is going on. Party takes a deep breath and looks at Kobra, he says, “Listen- I thi--” And then he’s gone.  
As in fucking _gone._ There’s a feeling like some sort, magnetic shift or something and suddenly Kobra’s hands curl in on themselves because the thing he was squeezing has been replaced by air.

Kobra stares, totally stock-still and shock written across his face. Honey asks him what happened, where Party went; he blinks at her and makes a ‘come here’ gesture with his hands, the shocked-face replaced by his ‘trademark pokerface’ but he’s still only looking at the spot where his husband was and now isn’t.  
Honey comes over and he scoops her up, sitting back on his heels and practically cradling her (even though she’s too big for such coddling), pressing her to his chest. He finally looks away from the suddenly blank space to kiss her forehead, briefly, and then in an impressive display of strength and balance he stands up with Honey still in his arms, turns on his heel and then stalks off to the bunks where he and Party had been sleeping without saying a single word.  
  
All of the MCR guys had been sitting in the same place, had been talking, but had not said a single word since the redheaded Killjoy had disappeared. All of them had seen the look on Kobra`s (not-Mikey’s) face; his world had very obviously shrunk to just himself in those few momets, and then expanded only enough to include Honey. It seemed like the only decent thing to do to allow his world to stay shrunk. So they were quiet.  
Still, Mikey thought--- and when he told the guys’ later, found that they all agreed--- that in the moment after the shock, when Kobra had pulled Honey Grenade to him and then carried her away, he’d reminded Mikey of a lion carrying its cub out of danger by the scruff of their neck. That, and a soldier who had just remembered he was in war.

 

\--Kobra goes next, in the middle of the night, while he sitting in front of Honey’s now-accepted sleeping spot on the couch. He sort of “ _Huu--”_ and jerks forward, feeling the sickness and sense of spinning that had accompanied the Move last time, and he’s afraid for the little girl laying behind him, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone, so he struggles as best as he can against the thing he can feel pulling on his very cells, like sleep--- until he feels Honey’s hand on his shoulder. She tells him quietly that it’s okay; that she’ll be okay; and just as Kobra’s thinking that he hopes to God or anything else that’s out there that that is true, he unconsciously relaxes, and then as suddenly as he’d appeared almost a month before he’s gone.  
The air feels vaguely static-y. Honey tucks her arm back under her blanket and rolls over, burying her face in the soft-enough fabric of the old couch, not wanting to look at the place where her Kobra had been.

-When the guys wake up and it’s only the breathing bundle of blankets (with some curly hair poking out the top) in the living room they know what’s happened. Honey doesn’t move all that day and they don’t make her; they move around more quietly than they would otherwise, and leave the TV off, giving her some room to grieve. The next day she doesn’t move at all either, except to walk the short distance to the bathroom once, her gaze glued to the floor. The guys keep quiet then, too. She ignores the bowls of applesauce, and toast, and eggs from IHOP, and even re-fried beans, that they put on the table in front of the couch.  
On the third day that she’s alone, Ray gets up earlier than the others'. He decides he should make some kind-of parental decisions; a eleven year old can't just _not eat._ Someone who's around a kid has a kind of duty to look after them, don't they? There was a law called, like, _en loco parentis_ that meant that teachers had to watch out for their underage students the same approximate was their guardians' would. Something like that.   
He makes some toast and spoons out some applesauce from the tub that’s still in the fridge.  
Out in the lounge shook Honey’s shoulder, gently, and pulled the blankets back just enough that her head and shoulders are visible. She winces at the light and attempts to bury her face in the couch again but Ray puts his hand on her shoulder again and she looks up. He holds up the bowl of applesauce. “I know it sucks. I really do. But you have to eat.”  
She rolls over and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s still wearing the clothes she bought--- or maybe stole--- at the thrift store. Her jacket hangs over the top of the couch. She’s wearing Kobra’s bright red one, just then. “I’m not hungry,” she muttered.  
“Don’t believe you. You need to eat. I made it, it's good.”  
She looks from him to the food back to him, and then finally shuffled forward and picks up the fork. “Shiny,” she says.  
Ray think that means thank you. Even if it doesn't, she has food, she's saying stuff. He'll be okay with that.

 

-On the night before Honey goes, someone leaves out a bunch of Magic Markers and Honey draws on her left wrist, the fragile part where all the veins live, and then she goes out and shows it to Frank, who previous to this she had asked about all his tattoos. Anyway, she sits down beside him in the studio-place at the back of the bus and watches him play for aa while, and then he takes off his earphones and she shows him her wrist—and for a minute he’s concerned, suddenly, because he see’s red on her skin; and then she tells him that she drew them, and he relaxes a little. She explains, then, that when she got home and had enough stuff to trade (she’d have had to save up for a long time, but if the stuff she’d got from here came with her, it’d be easy enough) she was going to get it inked in. The heart in the middle were her mom, and dad, (she pointed to each them and hesitated for a second, before pointing to a slightly smaller one that she’d outlined in soft glitter), and little sister. And the circle beside her sister’s heart was her friend Anna. The other circles were her other friends, and the four stars were the four---  
‘Killjoys’, Frank said, nodding. It wasn’t a bad design. ‘Why is that one--- uh, Anna’s one--- in the middle with your family?’  
Honey’s face twisted up unhappily, but then she breathed in and reset her expression into a poker-face that Kobra Kid would have been proud of. “The ones in the middle are gone,” she said, not elaborating. “And they’re all my family.”  
‘Oh,” Frank said, and couldn’t think of anything else to say.  
Honey shifted on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest again. “In the comics your Kobra gave me they said that usually time hopping happens so someone can learn a lesson,” she said out of blue.  
“Sometimes yeah,” Frank hedged cautiously. He didn't know that Mikey had been giving the kid comics to read but it made sense with Mikey's overall attitude about these things, which was mainly "They're weird but they're still _people_ ". Kids deserved comic books. Especially weird kids caught in a alternate dimension, or reality, or whatever the fuck.  
“What am I supposed to learn?” She looked over at him. Somehow, even being inside for three days, she'd gotten dirt and dust on her face again.  
Frank wondered if she asked the dude he looked like, Fun Ghoul, about stuff like this and he was just an effective stand-in. He wouldn't put it past the universe. He didn't have a good answer for her. “I don't know. I wish I could help.”  
Honey nodded and looked away, resting her chin on her knees again. “Maybe it's because I tried to run away before,” she mumbled. She shut her eyes. “I changed my mind. It's bad being away from them. I want to go home.”  
Frank didn't know what to say.  
  
  
For all any of them know, that _was_ the whole universal design. The bus rolls into Cincinatti the next morning before sunrise-early, and Mikey had skipped some of his meds to beat this one stupid game on his phone which took him the whole night so he got up first.   
He passed the lounge in a kind of single-minded coffee haze, acquired some, stood for a minute and then went back. The small room was empty except for him and patches of orange dust on the floor.

  
\--


End file.
